


Escape From Minrathous

by InyrilJace



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Tevinter Imperium, Angst, F/M, Gen, Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InyrilJace/pseuds/InyrilJace
Summary: Stolen from his family and thrown into a foreign world, Malcolm Hawke finds himself a slave in Tevinter. His new master is a cruel magister with dark intentions - but the tattooed elf by the magister's side is an enigma that Malcolm cannot make sense of.Struggling to find his place in this new life, Malcolm constantly searches for a way to escape. But is his own freedom worth the lives of the other slaves? And is the tattooed elf his greatest enemy, or an unlikely ally?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, thanks for checking out my new fic! I have a feeling this is going to be a long one, so settle in for the ride. As always, feedback is massively appreciated. :)

The sharp sound of knees hitting tiles echoed through the hall. Whilst small and modest in comparison to the main hall – designed for entertainment and revelry – this private dining hall was still far more opulent than many could claim to have ever laid eyes upon. Masterwork etchings and carvings decorated the pillars and ceiling mouldings. Gossamer tapestries – more silken images than actual tapestries – hung upon the walls, fluttering alluringly in the warm afternoon breeze that drifted through the high windows. The tiles themselves were richly coloured and artfully arranged in an intricate pattern.

Standing behind his master's right shoulder as the man lavished in exotic foods, Fenris regarded the slave upon the tiles and found his presence to be a heinous offence in this place of his master's glory.

Filthy and emaciated, the slave wore little more than ragged scraps of cloth around his waist. His chest heaved with laboured breaths, forcing his pronounced ribs into stark relief. His black hair was overgrown and tangled, the beard on his face a matted rat's nest. Yet as his head slowly lifted, the two startlingly blue eyes that stared out were full of more rage and defiance than Fenris had expected for a slave so pathetic and weakened.

Passing an unimpressed glance over the slave on his dining room floor, Danarius focused his attention back on his meal.

"What is that?" he asked in a bored, unimpressed tone.

Stepping forward from her place behind the wretched slave, Hadriana lifted her chin high with confidence.

"It is the new slave you requested, master. I thought it best to bring him before you immediately." Her words were steady and unflinching but with just enough reverence to not earn the ire of the older magister. Fenris felt a cold twist of loathing snake its way through his gut as he looked at her. Her gaze never drifted towards him; it was as though he did not exist.

" _That_ is not what I requested," Danarius retorted. " _That_ is an unsightly stain on my pristine décor. What makes you think I would have any interest in it?"

Hadriana bent down to the slave, wrenching his bound hands up high behind his back and drawing a small noise of pain from him as his shoulders protested the awkward angle. Yet Danarius shifted his weight ever so slightly, eyes narrowing a fraction as he regarded the crude shackles locked around the slave's wrists – the shackles with red runes engraved in them.

"A mage?"

"Just so, my lord magister," Hadriana replied with a note of pride as she released the slave. He slumped to the side, breaths heaving harder than before and appearing terribly fragile in that moment. Yet Fenris saw flexing of jaw muscles, caught the sound of grinding teeth with his sharp hearing.

"It hardly looks well enough to stand, let alone survive the rigours involved with being in my possession," Danarius scorned. This was a dance Fenris knew well. His master would mock and taunt, feigning indifference whilst allowing Hadriana to gradually reveal information to him, piece by piece. Fenris did not understand why they could not speak plainly to each other – but it was not his place to understand anything.

"It is stronger than it looks," Hadriana assured. "It has survived much till this point, showing itself to be of greater fortitude than one would expect."

Danarius pressed his lips together, eyes flicking briefly over the slave once more. Fenris knew his master could divine much from such a simple glance, yet he allowed his apprentice to spin her own tale.

"Greater fortitude than one would expect of …"

The smile that passed over Hadriana's face was gloating now. This was the pinnacle of what she wished to share with her master, the ultimate piece of enticing information she had withheld until this very moment.

"A Fereldan apostate!" Hadriana ran a hand through her hair in a moment of vain arrogance. The thin assortment of bangles tinkled musically with the movement and Fenris found his eyes drawn to them, fixating on them.

His brow furrowed. Why should such jewelry steal his attention now, when it never had before?

"He was acquired in the south of that disgusting dog lord mud heap," she continued. "He failed several escape attempts, endured the subsequent beatings, and survived the months' long journey to the Imperium!"

"Barely survived," Danarius mocked, derision written over his face. Yet a spark lingered beneath it, a glow of interest and curiosity. He tilted his head to the side, openly regarding the slave now. "How old is it?"

"Around its fortieth decade, I am told. A more precise number is unknown, as it was not forthcoming when questioned."

Danarius made a dismissive gesture and turned back to his meal. Hadriana paused and Fenris could not help the satisfaction that rose in him to witness her frustration. After playing her final card, Danarius still seemed unlikely to show any further interest in the slave she had purchased for him.

If she was a wiser, more accomplished magister, she would know how to use her wiles and charm to manipulate her will and authority over Danarius, subtly shaming him. Yet Danarius was the master and she just an apprentice. It was only fitting that he use this opportunity to mock her, to remind her of her place and embarrass her back into obedience.

Her head bowed and hands folded in recalcitrance before her.

"If this slave displeases you, master, I shall have it returned and your money reimbursed at once," Hadriana said, barely restrained humiliation in her tone. Danarius sighed as though it was all a terrible bore and shook his head.

"Don't bother. It's here now and at the very least, I can use it in my research."

The hairs on the back of Fenris' neck stood up and his instincts screamed within him. He shifted his weight, eyes scanning rapidly over the room. Why? What was wrong? There was nothing out of place!

"Very well, Hadriana. Take-"

The slave lunged off the floor, hands swinging in front of him with uncuffed wrists – but how? Then Fenris saw it, the twisted, broken piece of metal that had once formed a thin decorative bangle.

Hadriana cried out as the slave reached for her, one hand grasping her arm and clamping a shackle over her wrist before shoving and reaching for the staff on her back.

Fenris was moving before Danarius even raised his hand in order. His feet flew across the tiled floor, deadly intent in his eyes. The slave spun the staff, slamming it into the floor and sending a wave of lightning out from its butt. The force of the attack was more than Fenris had expected of a slave so beaten and starved and he barely managed the jump in time, clearing the ripple of electricity to dart forward and lock his hand around the slave's throat.

The slave fell, wincing as his back slammed into the floor. With a snarl, Fenris shoved his other hand into the slave's chest, winding his fingers around the fragile heart. The slave gasped, the blood draining from his face as he struggled to draw breath.

"Wait."

That single command froze Fenris in his tracks. He could feel every beat and flutter of the slave's racing heart, could see every layer of rebellion and independence in his sharp eyes, could smell the months of poor hygiene on his body and his breath. Yet he waited, ever obedient to his master's every whim.

Danarius slowly stood and walked towards them. Hadriana was fumbling with the shackle, cursing furiously under her breath as she struggled to unlock it. Danarius shot her an irritated glance and flicked two fingers towards her. The shackle cracked and fell to the floor, leaving Hadriana to gasp in relief.

"Thank you, magister."

"Don't kill it, Fenris," Danarius said, ignoring his apprentice's comment entirely. "Let it live – for now."

Fenris drew his hand out of the slave's chest slowly, reluctantly. This slave was a wild mage, bent on harming his master. It did not seem wise to release the slave from his death grip, but he must obey. He would always obey. So Fenris remained crouched over the slave, expression contorted into one of murderous warning.

"You are not in Ferelden anymore," Danarius said as he stood above them. "You are not a free man. You are nothing. You are a slave, my possession, a thing. And I do not tolerate any rebellion in my possessions."

That was not entirely true, Fenris knew. His master delighted in a little rebellion from his slaves every now and then. It gave the magister an excuse to punish them, to flog and abuse them. Just as he would take pleasure from flogging this new slave. And so he should, thought Fenris. To defy the master was the greatest travesty a slave could commit. His temper rose at the mere thought and he longed to plunge his fist into the slave's chest again, to rip his heart out and watch the blood drip from it onto the dead slave.

But his master had said to let him live, and Fenris had no intention of ever defying his master.

"Forgive my impudence," the slave suddenly spoke in the trade tongue, shocking Fenris to the core. Such brazen behaviour! "But no man, not even a slave, is ever a _thing_. And I have no intention of being one of your possessions."

A slow smile curled across Danarius' face. Such wilfull, open defiance would do nothing but stoke his cruelties higher. Yet this slave was a fool, for he saw none of the danger even as it was laid bare before him.

"Hadriana. Go to my work study. In the second desk drawer there is a collar. Bring it."

The apprentice left immediately, her light footsteps fading down the hall. The slave glanced between them, wariness evident when he looked at Fenris, but only defiance for Danarius.

"Strange, for a Fereldan apostate to survive outside a Circle for so long." Danarius was mocking him now, prodding for answers in that languid way of his. Fenris knew how greatly his master enjoyed this game, and the slave only seemed to be playing further into it.

"That's what the Circles want you to think."

"Indeed? How very interesting. I think perhaps you will be a pleasing addition to my possessions after all." Fenris growled as the slave tensed at Danarius' words, but the magister simply dropped a hand to stroke through Fenris' hair. "You will need a name, of course. Even slaves need names. But names are not handed out freely in my household. You must earn it."

The slave's jaw flexed, fierce rebellion blazing in his blue eyes.

"I already have a name! I am Malcolm Hawke of Ferelden! And I will never be your slave!"

Danarius' hand tightened in Fenris' hair, betraying his excitement.

"We shall see."

* * *

The collar was snug around the slave's throat. He had resisted at first, recognition in his eyes as he stared at the intricate runes encircling the collar. But with his heart in Fenris' hand once more, Danarius had little trouble fastening the device. The magister drew out a blade, letting it trail down the slave's bare shoulder before sinking it into his bicep. The slave barely flinched, struggling more against the ensuing magic than the wound itself.

Danarius chanted low as he worked, weaving intricate blood magics into the runes upon the collar. Fenris felt his skin recoiling in distaste; he had never enjoyed blood magic. Yet he held his ground, refusing to move away and risk disappointing his master. The slave struggled harder against Fenris' grasp, near-panic permeating his scent.

But it was too late. Danarius finished the incantation and stepped back, smiling proudly at the collar.

"Let it go, Fenris."

He backed away slowly, eyes fairly blazing as he stood tense and waiting for the slave to twitch the wrong way.

"And now, slave, you must be reminded. You are a _thing_ , in my possession. And you will remember your place."

Fenris felt the tug of magic against his brands a split second before the slave fell, limbs locking and back arching as he screamed in agony. Danarius watched with a sadistic smirk upon his face, Hadriana not far from him with a similar expression. The slave screamed and thrashed, a pathetic mess at their feet with no shred of dignity left.

A strange sensation pressed through Fenris' chest, a dull ache that he did not understand. He should not be bothered. This slave had been defiant and more than deserved this punishment. Yet even so, Fenris could not help but remember the times such punishment had been directed upon him.

Danarius did not need a collar to inflict such pain on Fenris, not with the lyrium thrumming through his veins. The very skin on his body was a conduit the magister could use – and had used – at will. To stand here now and watching this convulsing slave, Fenris knew it was deserved. But it did not stop the sick feeling of dread at the memory of his own experiences.

He could not let it wear on him. Instead, he must let it inspire him to be more loyal, more faithful and obedient to his master's wishes.

With a flick of his fingers, Danarius ended the torture and the slave went lax on his side, limbs still twitching in violent after-effects. Blood flecked his mouth from a bitten tongue and his skin was an ashen pallor, betraying his weakness.

It was such a wretched, pitiful sight. Yet Fenris knew this was the best way to break a new slave. This Fereldan was better off letting go of his illusions and accepting his new lot in life, than trying to fight it. Danarius knew thousands of ways to extract the obedience he wanted and he relished the chance to use them all.

With a click of his fingers, Danarius spun and strode towards the doors. Fenris obediently fell into step behind him. Stepping out of the dining hall, Danarius let out a pleased sound as he saw an older slave walking by with a handful of letters.

"Fidus!"

"Master!" The elven slaved dropped into a low bow. "I was merely delivering these correspondences to your study, master."

"Hand them to me," Danarius ordered and accepted the letters from the trembling slave before pointing into the dining hall behind him. "Take it and clean it up. Feed it and clothe it. I'll not have any of my property dressed like _that_. And see that a guard is kept on it."

"Yes master, of course. So shall it be."

Bowing again, the elven slave scuttled around Danarius and Fenris as he hurried into the dining hall. Humming to himself, Danarius began to thumb through his letters as he walked. Fenris glanced back only once, catching a glimpse of Fidus helping the Fereldan slave out of the hall and towards the slave quarters. The slave looked up, meeting Fenris' gaze for a moment.

Turning away and keeping close behind his master, Fenris knew he could not ignore the disquiet in his heart anymore. There was no logical explanation for it, but somehow he knew that this Fereldan slave was trouble.

Perhaps more trouble than he was worth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm's stomach turned in horror. He did not need the elf to spell it out; he understood perfectly.

Malcolm accepted the broth with shaking hands that threatened to spill most of it down his fresh, clean clothes. Fidus tutted and took the bowl back, lifting the spoon to Malcolm's mouth for him. Resigning himself to the fact that he truly was far weaker than he wanted to acknowledge, Malcolm allowed the elven slave to spoon feed him.

Behind him, a human slave watched closely with a hand on the hilt of his sword. Malcolm was curious as to how this guard-slave intended to use the sword to stop him without killing him if need be, but rationale prevailed on him not to be so reckless.

His stomach growled as the first few mouthfuls of broth hit the bottom and Malcolm reminded himself to focus on his immediate needs. It was clear that he could not escape in his current condition. The damnable collar aside, he had not the strength nor the endurance to consider performing such a feat right now.

A hand strayed absently to the collar, tugging at it in irritation. Fidus slapped the hand away so abruptly that Malcolm jumped. The elf scowled and shot a glance at the guard-slave before returning to the broth. Malcolm sighed but accepted everything that was offered him.

The food was lulling him, making his eyes droop and his head long for a soft pillow. Malcolm almost snorted at the thought. Wouldn't that be wonderful, a soft pillow after all these months of sleeping on whatever surface he was left on. He doubted this magister would provide such a luxury to mere slaves. Best not to get his hopes up.

"Who are you?" Malcolm asked impulsively. The elf flinched and glared at him. "Oh, do you not speak the trade tongue? I don't know any Tevinter. Well, save for a curse here and-"

"Be quiet," ordered Fidus, his tone sharp and cultured even in the trade tongue. Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "Just eat. Do not speak."

"But who are you?" he pressed, deciding to forego the food now that he knew his companion understood him. "And where am I? I mean, I know I'm in Tevinter but a little more clarification would be appreciated."

"The master would not l-"

"That repulsive pile of nug dung is not here, is he? So tell me! Something, anything."

"He would beat you to hear you speak so!"

"Which is why I say it when he's not around," Malcolm said with a roll of his eyes. "Look if you're not going to tell me, maybe I'll ask you!" He turned towards the guard-slave, who seemed more tense than ever. "What-"

"Enough!" Malcolm found himself yanked back around and was surprised by the elf's strength. "Fidus, I am Fidus! You are in Minrathous, in the household of the great Magister Danarius! You are _nihil_ , nothing! Hold your tongue or the master will see that you lose it, if you are lucky!"

The guard-slave shifted and Fidus quickly looked down, stabbing the spoon into the broth. Malcolm let the silence reign for a long moment, giving the elf's emotions a chance to settle.

"So, the great Magister Danarius, in Minrathous. I must say, when those slavers took me, this was the last place I imagined I could end up." He sighed and looked around the small kitchen they were seated in. The other slaves had scurried out when they entered a short time ago and Malcolm found himself wondering why that was. Did they consider him a threat to be avoided? Or had they been given orders to keep their distance?

"Your tongue is far too loose, even for a Fereldan," Fidus warned.

"What do you mean?" A pang shot through Malcolm. "Are there other Fereldans here?"

"Not anymore. Some were too weak to endure. And those that would not accept their place found _other_ uses in the master's projects."

Malcolm's stomach turned in horror. He did not need the elf to spell it out; he understood perfectly. His hands clenched into fists, weak though they were, and he glared at the table.

"This is wrong, Fidus. No man should ever treat another like this!"

The guard-slave spoke a short, coarse sentence in Tevene and Fidus cringed. Malcolm glanced between them but neither seemed inclined to fill him in.

"What? What is it now? You're not seriously offended on behalf of that magister, are you?"

"Hear me now," Fidus said abruptly. "If you wish to survive, you would do well to hold your tongue and forget this ridiculous notion of independent thought. And learn to speak Tevene before the master beats it into your flesh!"

Fidus stood and took the bowl of broth away, ignoring Malcolm's protests and grumbling stomach. Having disposed of the food, the elf tugged him along and Malcolm had no choice but to follow. Fidus led him to a small, dark room with a door that locked from the outside. Reluctance filled him and his steps slowed but Malcolm was still too weak to fight against both Fidus and the guard-slave as they shoved him inside.

"This is your cell, until you prove yourself to the master," Fidus announced. "You are not to speak to the other slaves and you will remain here until the master orders otherwise."

"Wait!" Malcolm cried as the door began to swing shut in his face. "Isn't there anymore food I could have? Anything at all!"

Fidus opened the door again and glared up at him.

"I warned you to hold your tongue but you insisted on wasting your meal time on frivolous speech. You will not receive more food until the master desires so. Perhaps this will help you to learn."

The door closed with a _thud_ , followed by the lock clicking into place. Malcolm sighed helplessly, fighting back a sudden rush of emotions. He moved slowly through the cell; with the door shut it was pitch black and he had no desire to stub his toes on anything. A careful search of the room revealed nothing but four walls and a cold, stone floor. There was no cot, no bucket for ablutions, not even straw to protect against the stone.

He laughed in an attempt to ward off tears and sank to the floor, wedging his body in the corner and tilting his head back against the stone. So here he was, at the end of the terrible journey that had stolen him away from his family.

Malcolm brought them to mind now, allowing himself this luxury in the privacy of the cell. He had barely dared think of them over the last months since his abduction. He had always been crammed in a cage with other prisoners or chained to another. To think of his family had been too dangerous. He would rather his captors think him a single, lonely man than risk them knowing he had family that could be used as leverage against him.

Yet here in this tiny, empty cell, he was completely alone and finally safe to bring them to mind.

Where were they? Had they stayed or moved elsewhere? Were they safe? What if Marian had gone looking for him? She was impulsive and headstrong – but no, Leandra was just as headstrong and she would never let Marian go. Not after what they had agreed to.

Malcolm's heart ached as he thought back to that conversation, that awkward, painful, halting conversation. Leandra had been angry, tearful and pleading. Yet in the end she had agreed to his wishes; she had agreed that if ever he was forcibly taken away from their family, she would not look for him, nor let their children look for him.

Malcolm did not regret convincing Leandra to swear to such a thing. He only regretted that he had not been able to escape and return to them yet.

But he would. Determination filled every fibre of his being as he sat in the dark, exhaustion weighing him down. He would endure this slavery, he would survive this trial, and he would return to his family. No matter what.

His mouth forming their names over and over as tears filled his eyes, Malcolm let memories of his precious family flood his mind until they stole him away into sleeping.

* * *

Having been bathed before being fed and thrown into his cell, Malcolm was surprised when he was dragged from the cell in the morning and escorted to a bathroom. It was a simple square room, plain walls and an inset pool as the main feature. The same guard from the previous day shoved him towards the pool, glaring when Malcolm looked back at him.

A young elven boy entered the room, ducking his head as he passed the guard before approaching Malcolm and starting to undress him. Despite his protests, the boy was firm and insistent. He was stripped and in the water within minutes, the boy remaining mute as he scrubbed and lathered plain soaps all over Malcolm's body.

"I can do it myself," Malcolm insisted but the boy ignored him. "Really. I was bathed yesterday. I don't need-"

The boy shoved his head under the water to rinse off any remaining soap, then led Malcolm out of the pool. It was an incredibly bizarre experience for him, being bathed by a child who could be no more than eleven or twelve at the most. Not to mention the sullen-faced guard who stood there glaring at him the whole time.

The boy located a stool and pushed Malcolm onto it. He sat there, confused until the boy returned with a razor.

"Let me," Malcolm tried again. Yet the boy dodged all his efforts and lifted the razor to his head. Malcolm stood up and turned to the boy, extending a hand. "Please. I am more than capable-"

His words abruptly cut off as a hard boot slammed into the back of his knee. Malcolm cried out as he collapsed. The guard twisted his arms behind his back and held him there, groaning as stabs of pain shot up his leg. Not reacting to this display of violence, the boy stepped closer and lifted the razor again.

Malcolm was helpless as his hair and beard were shaved away. He watched it fall, his gut twisting strangely. He knew it would grow back but it still felt like such an invasion of his person.

Another set of footsteps entered the room as the boy finished with the razor. Malcolm could not see anything from his restrained position but he heard the click of a tongue against teeth.

"Let him up. I can't very well examine him from there."

The guard released him and Malcolm slowly stood, surprised by the trade tongue that graced his ears. He stared at the portly man before him. He had ruddy skin and thin, orange hair. Frowning, the man stepped straight up to Malcolm and lifted an arm.

"What are you doing?" he demanded as he pulled his arm free.

"Be silent, slave!" ordered the man. "And stand still! Unless you would prefer that I allow this delightful guard to enforce my commands for me?"

Malcolm glanced at the sullen guard before sighing. Perhaps a little discomfort was better than the pain and bruises of attempted rebellion. So he stood still and silent as the man inspected him head to toe. It felt wrong and invasive, to have his naked form reviewed in such a way. Yet what could he do to stop it? The collar was tight around his neck and Malcolm was too weak to try and fight the guard.

He had to wait. Bide his time. Maybe even play along, if he could stomach such a thing. Let them think that he had given in. They would grow lax around him. And then he could seize his chance for escape!

"Healthy, if terribly underweight." The ruddy man frowned and tilted Malcolm's head to examine a line on his cheek. "Boy!" The elven slave shuffled forward, head down and hands folded. "Was this you? Look! Did you damage the magister's property?"

Trembling and fighting to control his breathing, the boy slowly nodded and murmured an apology in Tevene. The ruddy man's face grew furious and Malcolm felt alarm jolt through him.

"It was my fault," he said. "I moved when he was shaving, that's all."

"How dare you damage the magister's property!" roared the ruddy man. He seized the boy and slapped him hard as a hand locked around his throat.

"Stop!" cried Malcolm, lunging forward without thinking. "Let him go! You're choking him!"

He struggled with the ruddy man, trying to pry his hands off the boy's neck. But then pain shot through his kidneys as the guard struck him. Malcolm fought to keep his footing but the guard pulled him away, wrestling him until he was face-down on the floor of the bathroom.

"Look at what you have done!" the ruddy man shouted at the boy. "Driving other slaves to such rebellion! You will be flogged!"

"He didn't do anything!" Malcolm protested, heart slamming against his ribs in horror. How could this be happening? He had to stop it!

Turning with the boy still gaping in his grip, the ruddy man stormed out of the bathroom. Malcolm was helpless to do anything as he watched them go. He struggled until they were out of sight, knowing it was useless.

The guard finally let him up and shoved him towards his clothes. Malcolm moved gingerly as every joint in his body protested the movement. But the guard hurried him along, until he was dressed and being firmly escorted through the building once more.

It was a massive place, more of a sprawling palace than a mansion. Malcolm tried to take everything in, tried to commit it all to memory. Yet his thoughts were still reeling from the helpless elven boy and when the guard finally brought him to a stop, he found he could not recall how they got there.

Yet he recognised this room. It was the same private dining hall that he had found himself in the day before.

Danarius sat behind the table laden with an exquisite spread of foods. Malcolm's stomach rumbled and he mentally cursed, not wishing to display any weakness before this magister. The guard prodded him forward until he was at the foot of the table, then shoved him to his knees. Malcolm winced as his knees hit the tiles, just like the day before.

"My physician tells me you have already poisoned one slave with your presence," Danarius spoke as he ate, not bothering to look up.

"That monster was your _physician?_ " Malcolm blurted out before he could stop himself. Anger burned inside his chest and he let loose the other words that longed to be free. "No physician harms a child, let alone for a tiny accident!"

"The damage of my property by a slave is hardly a _tiny accident_ , as you put it. Such behaviour must be rectified immediately. I will not tolerate such carelessness in this household." The magister looked up now, his grey eyes suddenly icy. "You would do well to hold your tongue, slave. I do not tolerate impudence."

"And I do not tolerate the abuse of others!" Malcolm should hold his tongue, he knew he should bite the words back. And yet they spilled over, too empowered by his passions and ideals to be held back. He would pay for it, he knew. He could see it in the magister before him as Danarius fell still.

"Who are you, slave, to judge my orders as abuse or discipline?"

Electricity burst through the collar and Malcolm fell back, a scream tearing from his lips as his limbs jerked and thrashed. Danarius watched with a bored expression, holding the torment a moment longer before releasing the blood magic with a flick of his fingers. Malcolm lay gasping on the cold tiles, shirt sticking to his sweaty chest and tremors rippling through his muscles.

"I have no need for a slave with such vocal opinions. You are not entitled to them. And while I am tempted to make an example of you here and now-" Danarius pushed back his chair and stood to move around the table, "-your stubbornness tells me there are better uses for a _thing_ like you."

Malcolm grit his teeth and forced himself back to his knees. He was not a thing! He would never bow like the slave Danarius wanted him to be!

"Take it to the mines," Danarius commanded the guard. "Put it with the elves. If it will not submit, the overseer will teach it the hard way."

The guard bowed and dragged Malcolm to his feet. He could barely hold himself up as he was taken away. His feet felt numb as they stumbled and his arms jittered with waning electricity. He wanted to spit and scream, to rage at this despicable magister. _Patience,_ he cautioned himself. _I must be patient._

As they neared the door, the white-haired elven slave with the strange markings entered the hall. Malcolm tried to bite back the words, tried to remember how precarious a position he was in. But he was tired. He was sore, weak and frustrated. He reacted before common sense could prevail.

"How can you serve that monster?" he demanded, pulling against the guard's grip on his arm. "Don't you see what he does to everyone around him? He is nothing more than an abomination!"

Fury lit in the elf's sharp green eyes and Malcolm had a split second to realise his error before the elf was upon him. Savage snarls poured from the elf's mouth and the white marks on his body suddenly blazed to life. Malcolm cried out and struggled, remembering the cold, jarring sensation of that hand sliding into his body and taking hold of his heart. Not that! Anything but that!

"Fenris!"

The elf froze, his face a picture of rage and his fingers just starting to press through flesh. Yet he was too obedient to his master, too cowed to follow through on the violence that he threatened.

"Release it. Now," ordered Danarius. The elf gave one last growl before stepping back. His markings slowly dulled and he bowed his head as turned and walked towards the magister. Malcolm watched him go, heart still racing in terror.

"Instruct the overseer to have it flogged immediately," Danarius commanded the guard, who bowed again. Malcolm knew he should be worried about that more than anything else. A flogging in his current state could kill him. Yet he could not tear his eyes away from the elf that cowered even as he drew close to his master.

Danarius seized a handful of the elf's hair and wrenched his head to the side–

The guard dragged Malcolm out of the room and his breaths shuddered in his chest as that last image burned itself on his mind. What hope did he have if an elf as volatile as that could not find the courage to stand up against his tormentor?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm stopped in his tracks, adrenaline lending him enough strength to stand on his own. 
> 
> "I … What do you mean, I caused the death of a slave?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm still alive! 
> 
> My life has been a hectic mess for the last five months because I've just moved interstate and started a new job. So don't expect much in the way of updates, but rest assured that I'm not abandoning this fic. Real life just takes priority far too often. But I still have plans for this fic. Ohoho, do I have plans!

The overseer flogged Malcolm to within an inch of his life. Back ripped and bloodied, he was ordered to take a pickaxe and join the other workers. He did not know how he found the strength to stand, to stagger away in obedience. All he felt was the fogging of his mind and a dull, persistent conviction that he had to stay alive.

The elves he laboured with were silent and cold towards him. They offered him no aide as they delved into a cold cave with narrow passageways. Malcolm struggled to lift the pickaxe, let alone swing it at the ore veins. He considered simply dropping the tool and sitting in the dirt to try and rest.

Yet the elves were watching him, even as they avoided him. Something told Malcolm they would have no problem with confessing his actions to whatever superior they could find.

When the overseer called for the midday break and all the slaves poured out to sit in a cleared patch, Malcolm could hardly move. He leant heavily against the mine wall as he struggled to keep up. Finally out in the blinding sun,he fell into the dust beside some elves, who made noises of disgust and moved away from him.

Food and water was distributed to the slaves. Malcolm stared as his own portion was set before him, throat desperately dry. It took all his strength to lift the cup to his lips without spilling it. He drained every last drop but could not bring himself to eat the food. Common sense told him he needed to eat if he wished to survive. Yet he had no strength for chewing right now. So he tucked the simple bread roll in his clothes for a later time.

Feeling slightly restored, Malcolm lifted his head to look around. The elves were all silent, none conversing with each other. It was eerie and his skin prickled unhappily. The overseer stood to the right, papers in his hands that he pored over. Malcolm's guard was beside him, expression still set to one of sour disapproval as he spoke with another guard.

Glancing briefly in Malcolm's direction, his guard abruptly turned and strode away. The new guard folded his arms behind his back and watched Malcolm, a relaxed expression on his brown face. Ah, so there was a rotation that was set to watch him. Malcolm wondered if this new guard would be any kinder than his predecessor, or if that relaxed face was a veneer meant to trick him.

It mattered little, he realised as the overseer began shouting in Tevene at them again. Malcolm had far more pressing matters on his mind than the change of a guard.

The hours dragged on until he did not know how he kept moving. His back throbbed and trickles of blood constantly slid down to soak the back of his pants. As night fell, lanterns were lit and for a sickening moment, Malcolm wondered if he would be forced to work into the night.

But no, it seemed to be just be a shift change. The elves all exited the mine, piling their tools to one side and falling into a procession that headed back towards a block of buildings Malcolm had seen on the way here.

Would he be thrown in the with the elves now as well? Was he destined to work beside them forever? Malcolm could not tell if he fancied that idea or not. It would separate him from Danarius' presence, but it would crush his spirit. Just like it had crushed the spirits of all the slaves he saw around him.

"Come along, Fereldan. This way."

Malcolm looked up, surprised by the Trade tongue, to see his new guard smiling at him and gesturing him along. He came slowly, legs trembling in weakness. The guard took him by the arm, helping him along. Astonishment filled Malcolm and he stared at this new guard. What did the man hope to gain by this?

They reached a cart drawn by a dracolisk and the guard helped Malcolm into it. He sat on the bench, confused and off-balance by these events – yet not about to complain, either. The guard took up the reins and clicked the dracolisk on.

"So, Fereldan, you look about two steps from death's door. Don't take anymore steps, you hear? The master would flay me if you died on my watch." The guard tossed him an easy smile and Malcolm felt his head spin in confusion. Why was this man speaking to him? No-one else would dare speak to him!

"Who are you?" Malcolm rasped.

"I'm Milo. The master has ordered me to guard you until you learn your place and are granted a name."

"And the other guard?"

"Oh, Titus? Yeah, he's a bit of a nug, isn't he? He'll be guarding you in the mornings. Don't let him get to you, though. He's just ambitious. He's trying to climb through the ranks to be the magister's bodyguard. Well, he _was_ , until Master Danarius took that elf as his bodyguard instead. Now the master insists he doesn't need a second bodyguard and Titus is right pissed about it. Can't blame him, really. He had his sights set on becoming a _liberati_. To have an upstart elf slave steal that from you is no easy thing to stomach."

Malcolm's head reeled with the implications of those easily-spoken words. If only he could think clearly, he could devise a way to use this information to his advantage. But there was nothing but spinning thoughts and that fog that crept over with no warning, blanketing his mind until Malcolm could not remember what he had been thinking in the first place.

He struggled to find clarity, for anything that he could latch onto.

"That elf. What is he?"

"Fenris? He's the master's bodyguard, I just said that." Milo shot him a look then raised his eyebrows. "Oh you mean his markings! That was the master's grand experiment. Fenris won the competition to undergo the experiment and become his bodyguard if it was successful. In return, the master would grant a boon to the winner. Titus wanted to use the boon to free himself. Now he's got no chance of that."

"But the markings …" Malcolm pressed a hand to his chest, haunted by the sensation of that fist ghosting into his body. Milo saw the gesture and grimaced.

"Put his fist in you, did he? Yeah, it's not pleasant. I don't know what the master did to give him such abilities, all I know is it has to do with the markings. They're made of pure lyrium, y'see."

"Pure lyrium!" Malcolm's head jerked up at that and Milo nodded. "But he should be dead!"

"I'm not a mage, I don't understand it," Milo said with a shrug. "And you'd best not go asking after it. The master is very jealous of Fenris. You're a mage so you're a valuable slave to him – but not valuable enough that he won't tear you apart just for looking wrong at his pet."

Malcolm blanched. How one person could ever view another as such a possession was unbelievably foreign to him. Yet he was confronted with it every time he turned around in this place. Anger stirred in his veins but it was impotent. What could he possibly do?

They passed the block of buidlings that the elven slaves walked towards, continuing along the dusty road to the main estate. Malcolm gave a start when they halted, his head jerking up from where it had drooped to his chest. Milo helped him down and easily half-carried him into the estate through the servant's quarters.

"Fidus is going to be furious when he sees you," the guard remarked conversationally. Malcolm could muster no response. Milo chuckled. "I can see it now! You've only been here one day but you've already been flogged, ruined your clothes and caused the death of another slave."

Malcolm stopped in his tracks, adrenaline lending him enough strength to stand on his own. He stared Milo in the eye, surprised to find he was slightly taller than the guard that regarded him with confusion now.

"I … What do you mean, I caused the death of a slave? How did I do that?"

"Titus told me. That slave boy who shaved you this morning. He cut your cheek, yes? He'll be dead by now."

Malcolm staggered, the earth lurching beneath him. Milo yelped and rushed to catch him. Yet his touch did not feel like the balm of a friendly voice in this terribly place anymore; it felt sickening, like a poisoned fruit that only revealed its toxins after it was consumed.

"Why?" he questioned. "It was nothing! Why would they kill a child for that?"

"The magisters are fickle," Milo said in a low voice. "Slaves like us don't get to decide the whys and all that. Accept it now and learn your place. The quicker you submit, the less people you hurt."

"This is not my fault!" Malcolm snarled, that anger burning through him fiercely once more. "This is Danarius' fault! He-"

"He will do worse than kill you if he hears you slandering his name!" Milo warned sharply. "Now come on, enough talk. Fidus is waiting."

* * *

Malcolm slouched against the table, head propped up with one hand as the other slowly fed him. Fidus had reacted just as Milo said, raising his voice in consternation even as he ushered Malcolm into a small room and ordered him to be stripped.

He was bathed by two nervous elven women. Milo held him down when they treated his back. Malcolm screamed and thrashed but they persisted, rubbing thick salves over the wounds and bandaging them. Now, he sat in the same small kitchen as he had the previous night. A handful of other slaves moved around him, watching him warily but still retrieving food for themselves and talking softly.

Milo leant against the wall behind him, a bowl of stew in his hands and a flirtatious smile on his face. The young elvish woman he spoke to blushed lightly but hurriedly stepped away when Fidus glared at her.

"Keep eating," Fidus ordered and Malcolm realised he had stopped, worn down by exhaustion. He glanced at the older elf sitting across from him and complied. The food was good and his stomach ached for as much as he could get his hands on. Yet all he really wanted to do was sleep.

"I'm sorry. About the slave boy." Malcolm was not sure why he apologised to Fidus but perhaps it was because Fidus seemed to hold some measure of authority over the other slaves. The older elf looked up at him now, a resigned expression in his eyes.

"So am I. Alban was a good lad. He did not deserve his fate."

Malcolm looked down, unable to bear the accusation in those eyes any longer. Alban, his name had been Alban. Barely older than eleven or so. A small light of life, snuffed out before he could really begin to glow.

Thoughts of Carver – only slightly older than Alban – passed through his mind but Malcolm pushed them back, forced them down. He could not afford to think of his family when surrounded by these people. What if he let something slip? What if he said the wrong thing? If Danarius found out about his family and decided to use them against him …

Malcolm had sworn he would never let anyone get to him through his family ever again. Even now, hundreds of miles away from them, he clung to that promise.

"How do I stop something like that happening again?" Malcolm asked. He knew it was probably futile. Alban had only given him a small cut while shaving, nothing of consequence. Malcolm could not have prevented such a thing. Still, he had to ask.

"Submit to the master," Fidus replied immediately. "Bow low to him whenever you see him and address him as _dominus_."

"I cannot, Fidus. I cannot be his slave."

"You already are his slave. Accept that. Submit to him."

Malcolm held his tongue. There was no way they could agree on this subject and he was too weary to argue.

Milo sat down beside him, humming a cheery tune around mouthfuls. The tune felt so out of place in this land of terror and slavery that Malcolm had to turn his head away. How did Milo do it? How did he look at all the suffering and injustice around him and turn a blind eye to it? How could he find happiness amid all this wretchedness?

More than ever, Malcolm knew he could not stay here. No matter what it took, he had to escape and return to his family.

He gave no resistance when the bowls were empty and Milo escorted him back to his cell. The tiny room was the same as before and Malcolm tried to ignore his repulsion as he entered it.

"Get some rest, Fereldan. If your injuries are still bad enough in the morning, the master might relieve you of your duties. But you're new, so it's just as likely that he won't." Milo shrugged and flashed him another smile before closing the door and locking it.

Malcolm lingered there, head pressed against the wall by the door. He heard Milo take a couple of steps then stop, his voice too faint to make out through the solid wood. A light feminine voice answered and Milo laughed. So, the elven girl from the kitchen.

He pushed off the wall and carefully lay down on his side. The bandages were tight around his torso but at least his back had stopped bleeding. Malcolm sighed and considered bringing his family to mind. But there was no point. Thinking of them would not free him from this place. It would only make him more lonely. It would make him compare his children to the poor boy Alban.

Not wishing to sully the memories of his family, Malcolm kept them locked away this time. When he was stronger, when he was more sure of himself in this place, then he would think of them. But for now, he could not risk it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris recognised the arrogance in his master's shoulders, knew the cruel grin that lay on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And six months later, I update again! ^^;  
> This chapter has been extremely difficult to work with, so I hope it turned out okay! I had planned to have it posted months ago, but a few details eluded me - until now. So here's to hoping that the other chapters flow a lot smoother.

Fenris moved confidently around the magister, his fingers deft as he smoothed the silk clothes and fastened the ties. He was not always called upon to dress his master, yet he was familiar enough with the task that he was swift and efficient.

"Thank you, Fenris," Danarius said as he stepped back, and warmth bloomed in his chest at the simple praise. He inclined his head and murmured a reverent _dominus_ as the magister walked past him. He fell into step behind him, comfortable with his place there.

The morning routine was familiar: Fenris accompanied his master to breakfast and waited on him. Correspondences would often arrive and Danarius read them as he ate. Sometimes Hadriana joined him, sometimes not. Disappointment filtered through Fenris as she arrived this morning but he hurriedly crushed it. She was his master's apprentice. He had to respect and submit to her.

So Fenris obediently served his master and ignored Hadriana as best he could. He did not react to the gazes she sent his way, nor the fleeting touches that she always got away with. After all, his master was indifferent to her actions. He saw it all and he allowed it, so Fenris must submit. Whatever his master wished was his wish also.

Yet Fenris was still relieved when Danarius stood up from the table, signalling that the meal was over. Fenris always trained in the mornings and he longed to reach the training courtyard now. It would give him a reprieve from Hadriana's foul presence. Danarius turned towards him and he bowed low, awaiting the dismissal that was sure to follow.

"You will forego your training this morning, Fenris. I may yet have need of your presence," Danarius said. Fenris felt his heart sink but instantly chastised himself. This was the master's wish!

He bowed lower, murmuring another _dominus_ to show his obedience.

"Is it that Fereldan slave?" Hadriana asked as she stood, walking close enough by Fenris to trail a hand down his body.

"Indeed," Danarius replied and began to stride out of the room. "Its rebellious nature led to a flogging yesterday and it is in no state to be worked today, unless I wish to lose another competent slave."

"What do you have planned for it, magister?" Hadriana asked, cruel eagerness in her voice. A grin slid across Danarius' face.

"You shall see."

The Fereldan was there and waiting by the time they reached Danarius' work study. He turned and looked the magister straight in the eye without even a hint of submission. Fenris growled on reflex; how dare this slave disrespect his master so openly!

"It's alright, Fenris," Danarius soothed him with a hand on the back of his neck. "See how ignorant it is? It needs to learn its place."

There were words in the Fereldan's throat; Fenris could see them straining to push out of his mouth. But the slave held them back, lips pressing together tightly in a conscious effort to restrain himself. Hmm. Perhaps the slave could learn after all.

"Let's begin, then."

Danarius walked to his desk, toying with the various instruments of torture laid out there. The Fereldan's eyes tracked the movements, pulse jumping in his throat. Fenris recognised the arrogance in his master's shoulders, knew the cruel grin that lay on his face. Danarius drew great pleasure from striking fear into his slaves' hearts. This Fereldan was playing straight into his hands.

"I have no interest in a slave that cannot learn its place. I have many pressing matters to attend to and I hardly have the time to spend all day correcting foolish ignorance and rebellion. So it shall be as thus: I will give you a command and you will obey, or you will suffer. Do you understand?"

Fenris watched the Fereldan's brow crease and mouth quirk sarcastically before he caught himself. Taking a deep breath, the malnourished slave held Danarius' gaze as he answered.

"It is not the understanding that I struggle with."

"Ah yes, of course. This preposterous notion of _freedom_. The right to choose your own path, to speak your mind, and damn whatever consequences. Allow me to enlighten you. Take a knee."

He would not obey; Fenris knew it the moment the words left his master's lips. The Fereldan's frown deepened, his jaw setting in a stubborn line. But Danarius chose that moment to seize the staff that lay on the desk before him.

With a cry of pain, the Fereldan crashed to knees. He curled over, cradling his injured joints as he gasped for breath. Lifting the staff, Danarius began to circle around him.

"You are a Fereldan apostate, hunted and shunned by your own Chantry. Were you born in the Imperium, this would never have been a concern. Yet you are from the South. Even amongst your own countrymen, your life is not your own. Were anyone to discover your true identity, you would be taken away in chains. This is proof that you were never meant for a life of freedom."

The Fereldan swallowed down his pain and started to rise. Fenris took a step forward, fists clenching in defence of his master. How dare this slave display such brazen defiance!

"Yet you continue to strive for the illusion that is nothing more than myth. Such folly! Is it not better to accept that freedom is the privilege of those in power? You have no power. You were captured and sold into servitude! You life is worth nothing more than a handful of silver pieces. Freedom is something you can never attain; it is not meant for one with the blood of a slave."

"Do you not hear yourself?" the slave spoke, drawing a growl of outrage from Fenris' lips. "How could you honestly believe that one's fate is determined by their blood? Blood is nothing but the life force in our veins!"

A sly smile crept across Danarius' face and he paused in his circling, staring the Fereldan head-on.

"Many things can be determined by blood. But of course, we do not speak of such things in _polite company_. Still, I am sure you will agree that the results are … unparalleled."

Danarius flicked the end of his staff towards the Fereldan. The blade on the staff scored across his upper arm and the slave cried out, recoiling as he clutched at the wound. Thick blood welled out between his fingers and as Danarius raised a hand, the blood lifted into the air.

Fenris felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright and his stomach begin to twist. Danarius was murmuring low and Fenris felt the power thrumming through the air, stinging against his brands. The slave staggered under the building power but his eyes were full of hate.

"Blood magic is the way of the coward!" the slave snarled and Danarius lifted his eyebrows as though amused, the blood still dancing in the air before him. Slowly, he wove the blood into a pattern, like some kind of ritual symbol that hung suspended in mid-air. Danarius thrust his palm against the blood symbol and there was a shockwave of power through the room. Fenris could not help the flinch that ripped through him and he hoped his master had not noticed.

Yet Danarius was too focused on the Fereldan slave to notice anything else. He smiled cruelly as the slave clutched a hand to his chest, body swaying as his knees finally buckled and he fell to the ground.

"What … what is this?"

"Blood magic is simply another way of manipulating the magical forces of the Fade. An intriguing and exciting way, for it does not rely on the body's mana stores like other magic does. However, blood magic can be used to access these mana stores, which opens many options. After all, it is hardly dignified for a magister such as myself to be seen cutting a slave open every time I run a little low on mana. But to have a secondary reservoir of it, prepared in advance …"

Fenris did not understand all that his master spoke of. He was no mage and it was not his place to unravel the meanings behind his master's research. That was for Danarius and his apprentice alone.

Yet the slave's eyes widened, as though he understood all too well.

"You cannot be serious. You cannot be saying that you have learnt to steal another person's mana through blood magic!"

" _Steal_ is such a vulgar term. I prefer _re-appropriate_." Danarius smirked and twisted his hand in a pulling motion. The slave hunched over, a pained noise leaving his chest as though Danarius was tearing the very life from him.

"Mana is useless in a mage slave," Danarius continued. "Slaves do not wield magic and are thus only suitable for subjects in magical research, or in labour as long as they wear binding collars. By taking your mana, I am doing you a service. I am putting your mana to use, a use that you could never reach on your own. For a slave does not use magic. Magic is only for the magisters."

Danarius' hand relaxed into an open palm and Malcolm gasped, chest heaving as he shuddered in relief and slowly looked up.

"But … how do you store such mana? If your own mana stores are full yet you want to keep another person's mana on hand, how-"

"Hadriana, come." Danarius ignored the slave's questions, instead gesturing to his apprentice. She came forward eagerly, a determined light in her eyes. Danarius positioned her in front of the blood symbol that still hung in the air. "Remember, feel the incantation. If you cannot feel the threads of power there, you will not be able to control it nor manipulate it. Once you can feel those threads, you must take hold of them and pull."

Fenris watched as Hadriana followed the instructions and struggled to replicate what Danarius had done only moments ago. He knew she was beginning to get it when the slave let out a grunt and his face twisted in pain.

"Good, very good," Danarius said and Hadriana flushed in pride. "Now, let it go."

She released the pull on the slave's mana and he sucked in a deep breath again. Danarius waved his staff and the blood symbol fell to the ground, needed no longer.

"I find there are many advantages to the usage of a mage slave's mana," Danarius spoke to the slave. "Not only does it give your impotent mana an outlet, but it is painful. Incredibly painful. What we pulled from you today was only a small amount, I am sure you could tell. And it was returned to you instead of being harvested. For I am a benevolent master and I feel my slaves deserve due warning before they face severe consequences."

The slave's eyes narrowed and his jaw flexed from the effort of holding his tongue.

"Consider yourself warned, slave. You have tested my patience far enough in a short time. Continue to abuse my kindness and defy my authority, and you will be punished. I am sure I do not have to tell you that a mage's mana is linked with their life force. Drain enough of it and you can drain the very life from their veins. And it would be a pity to drain your life so quickly after purchasing you."

"Death would be a welcome escape from your foul presence! You speak of benevolence and due warning but I see nothing but a weak blood mage, seduced by the lust of a power that will only consume you in the end."

Fenris felt his anger boil in shock at the slave's words. How dare he speak out against the master! Yet the slave fell screaming to the ground as Danarius lifted a hand, his face cold and stony.

"There are some things that are worse than death. Such as this. Are you familiar with this at all?" Danarius lifted an item from his desk and Fenris watched in satisfaction as the blood drained out of the slave's face.

"No …"

"Somehow, the Rite of Tranquility severs a mage's connection to the Fade without killing them. I have not yet learnt how, so to have a live subject before me would be the best way to conduct my research. And the tranquil make such wonderful slaves, forever obedient and without emotion or impulse. Truly, it would save me the trouble of training you at the very least."

"No!" The slave staggered to his feet, retreating from Danarius in pure horror. Yet he could only go so far, as the guard Titus clamped a hand on his shoulder to hold him in place. Danarius advanced with the rod in hand. He brandished it in front of the slave's face.

"Disobey me and this shall be your fate. Continue to rebel, to be defiant, to spit on my generosity and infect other slaves with your rebellion, and this shall be _your_ fate. Is that clear?"

Fenris was tense as he watched the slave. His master was too close; this Fereldan slave had already demonstrated high strength and unpredictability. Fenris longed to shove the slave away, to stand before his master as a protective barrier. Yet Danarius had not called for him so he stayed where he was, even though it made his instincts tremble.

"Y-yes," murmured the slave, his eyes darting around and no longer able to hold Danarius' gaze. But Danarius was not satisfied.

"Is that how you address me? So brazen! I said-" Danarius shoved the branding iron against the slave's forehead and the slave cried out in horror, struggling against Titus' iron grip. "-Is that _clear?_ "

"Yes, master!"

Danarius stepped away and the slave sagged. Titus let him fall and he lay on the ground in a quivering heap. Danarius sneered and flicked a hand in disgust.

"Take it out of here. Lock it back in its cell and see it is not let out again until the evening meal."

" _Ita, dominus,_ " Titus said with a small bow. He heaved the slave up by his arm and dragged him away. Fenris watched them go, not missing the filthy glare that Titus shot his way as he passed.

"Why do you not simply make it tranquil now, my magister?" Hadriana asked. She drifted towards the door as though trying to get one last look at the Fereldan, yet she paused by Fenris. He tensed but could not move away as she ran a hand through his hair – only to tighten it in a fist and pull hard.

"It is much more amusing to break a slave slowly, you should know this." Hearing the amused note in his master's voice, Fenris risked a glance up, only to find Danarius watching him and Hadriana without even a hint of a frown on his face.

"But surely it is more than that," Hadriana said as she slid her hand out of Fenris' hair and down the back of his neck. Sharp fingernails dug into his skin and twisted. He flinched but fought to keep his expression neutral; he would not give her the satisfaction of seeing his pain.

"Astute, as ever," Danarius said with a note of pride. Hadriana flushed at the praise and turned away from Fenris, letting her hand slide down over his chest as she stepped away. Fenris fought back a shudder as fresh hatred burned in him. "Can you not guess why I leave it as a mage?"

Hadriana frowned, frustration quickly filling her as she slowly shook her head. Danarius' expression changed to one of bored disappointment and Hadriana's hands clenched into fists. Fenris took a step back, knowing how reckless she could be when her temper was stirred.

"That slave possesses a remarkable strength of magic, along with a surprising fortitude and exceptional control. To neuter such a specimen, as it were, would be a waste of potential. It is far more useful to me as a mage than a tranquil at the moment. Although if it continues in its rebellious behaviours, softer, more cunning motivations will have to be found to manipulate it."

"But you already have the threat of tranquility. What more do you need?" Hadriana asked and Danarius scoffed.

"Threaten with your highest card too often and the threat loses its power. No, I need something else …" Danarius' eyes found their way to Fenris before a light of interest sparked in them. "That slave was quite eager to jump to the defence of another slave, wasn't it?"

"You mean the boy? But he was a warning message to the Fereldan. I doubt it will be so inclined to defend another slave after what happened."

"That is exactly the point, Hadriana. If this slave values the lives of other slaves, such a thing can be used against him."

"Oh!" Hadriana face lit up in cruel excitement. "But which slave to use against it? It has hardly been here long enough to form any bonds, especially not after the incident with the elf boy."

"We will have to start small, test it first to confirm my theory. But if all goes according to plan …" Danarius' gaze swivelled back and fell heavily on Fenris, "I will have the perfect final piece to fit into my puzzle."

Fenris had no idea what his master was talking about anymore. Yet he knew the shiver that swept over him was born of fear, of trepidation. A new hatred sparked in him, still small, but ready for the slightest kindling to stoke it brighter. Fenris had always known this Fereldan slave would be trouble and though he still could not see how, his instincts told him to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are awesome. And if you like Fenhawke, check out my new fic Ghost Wolf!


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